


Bare

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Ficlet, M/M, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-13 20:18:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17494646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Ignis doesn’t want to feast raw.





	Bare

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Are y’all tired of the vamp chocobro vignettes yet?
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

The journey is a difficult one for so many reasons, and Ignis feels guilty for his own internalized pain. The usual cup of Ebony has become cold ash in his mouth, but he’s in no position to complain—his gnawing hunger is nothing compared to the loss his loved ones feel. He smiles thinly when Noctis and Gladiolus wander off to fish. He wishes them luck, promising to prepare whatever they should catch. Noctis seems in better spirits this evening. If he can look past the death of his father and the fall of his city, surely Ignis can survive without blood.

But he finds it increasingly difficult to meet Prompto’s blue eyes, so he lingers at the edges of their camp in one of the foldout chairs. He stares off through the foliage around their little haven, half praying for a monster to come and give him a distraction. He takes periodic sips from his coffee despite the tastelessness, just to feel some sense of normalcy. The sun’s beginning to set. It doesn’t fill him with the gust of energy that it once would have, way back when he was young; he’s long since adjusted his eternal clock to that of his prince. Without the salves he had in Insomnia, a small thread of Noctis’ magic can take the sunlight’s sting away. But there is no spell to combat one’s own stomach, so he sits and bears it. 

He hears the footsteps coming the moment they’re set in motion. His hearing’s still excellent. He tilts his gaze up, pretending to find something interesting on the horizon, but Prompto doesn’t come around into his field of vision anyway. Maybe halfway between the tent and Ignis’ chair, Prompto asks, “Iggy? Aren’t you gonna come sleep?”

In a deceptively smooth voice, Ignis lies, “I’m fine.”

There’s a pause where Ignis waits for Prompto’s footsteps to recede. It’s been a trying day, full of hunts and swarms of MTs, and the only reason the four of them aren’t already passed out inside the tent is because fishing helps calm Noctis’ nerves. A shield needs to follow their prince. Ignis should’ve gone too, just so he wouldn’t be alone with Prompto. 

Prompto asks quietly, “Aren’t you hungry?”

Ignis doesn’t get another chance to lie. Prompto comes forward then, circling around the chair to really _look_ at Ignis, concern all over his pretty face. He is _pretty_ , mixed with _handsome_ : utterly adorable and attractive and all good things. He doesn’t deserve the burden Ignis has thrust on him, even though he was the first to offer it. He says, “You haven’t had me since the night we left. It’s never been this long...”

“We weren’t supposed to be gone this long,” Ignis fills in, trying to balance Prompto’s kindheartedness with realism. “I was foolish. I didn’t pack any of the numbing ointment, and none of the outposts we’ve visited have sold it.”

Prompto’s face twists up. They haven’t had this conversation yet, mostly because Ignis hasn’t wanted to. They have so much bigger problems. Prompto tells him, “I don’t care about that.”

“It’s necessary, Prompto.” Prompto shakes his head like he disagrees, but Ignis has a conscience. He says with conviction, “I refuse to hurt you.”

“You wouldn’t—”

“Prompto,” he warns, but of course, Prompto doesn’t listen. He bends down to stubbornly take Ignis’ hand, and though Ignis resists at first, he’s _drained_ , and Prompto’s stronger than most give him credit for. He pulls Ignis out of the chair and walks him wordlessly back towards the tent. Ignis follows, but once they’re both sitting inside, he pulls out of Prompto’s grasp. He didn’t want to have this fight where Noctis could hear him anyway. “Without it, you would feel _everything_ —the bite, the blood loss, the wound. I only every agreed to this in the first place because of that ointment: because I knew I could protect you from that side of things.”

“But you don’t _have_ to protect me,” Prompto insists. In the dim darkness of their tent, his eyes seem to burn like the lantern light. “I’m not that fragile, Ignis—you _know_ I’m not. I offered because I wanted you to do it to me—I wanted to _feel_ you, and I wanted to be the one that satisfied you. And I thought...” He pauses just long enough for his cheeks to flare, flushing cutely across his freckles. “I thought you agreed because you wanted me too.”

Ignis’ stomach twists. They could have each other without that. But intellectually, Ignis knows he’ll have to feed on _something_ , if not someone, and in that way, Prompto’s the best thing that ever happened to him. In every other way, Prompto’s still right up there with Noctis. 

For a long moment, Ignis is quiet, just fighting himself. It’s no good being next to Prompto, but he’s been next to Prompto for their entire journey—they sit next to one another in the Regalia, and sleep so close to one another, and everything from the way that Prompto smells to the sound of his laughter makes Ignis _want him_. Ignis has self-control. Bur Prompto’s chipping away at it now, and Prompto knows just what to say. “You need to eat sometime, Specs. You gotta be at your best for Noct, for all of us, and you can’t be that when you’re hungry. I know you’re hungry.” The low blow makes Ignis wince. Prompto softens. He adds, blushing hotter, “And y’know... I miss you doing it.”

He’s right. He can’t protect Noctis when he’s weak from starvation. Ignis doesn’t like it, but it’s still true. There’s a lump in his throat. He swallows it down and promises, “I’ll be as gentle as I can.”

Prompto smiles so beautifully. It’s ironic that he’s the photographer, because he’d make the best model. Just looking at him makes Ignis lick his lips. He warns, “But if the pain becomes too much...”

“I’ll punch you out,” Prompto promises, still grinning wide. Ignis knows he’s only teasing but still appreciates the sentiment. Ignis doesn’t have to move closer. Prompto comes to him. 

Prompto shuffles forward, pressing into Ignis, and Ignis rearranges his legs to spread open so there’s room for Prompto in between them. Prompto wraps his arms loosely around Ignis’ body, clinging to Ignis’ shirt, and tilts his face aside, exposing the long, pale column of his throat. It makes Ignis’ breath catch out of habit. He relearned to breath just to make Noctis’ life easier—to appear _normal_ —but then Prompto came into the picture, and that seemed to wake his body up, reminding his heart how to beat at awkward times. Prompto sing-songs, “C’mon, eat up, Iggy. You fed me so good this morning, so I’ve been dying to return the favour...”

Ignis ducks to lick a wet stripe over Prompto’s neck. Prompto shivers. The taste of his skin alone has Ignis practically salivating. 

He still hesitates. He wants it _so badly_ , but Prompto’s such a cheerful ray of sunshine, and Ignis can feel his teeth growing—to bite into such a pure person with such sharp fangs seems so wrong. Then Prompto bucks his hips forward, grinding his lithe body into Ignis’, and his grip tights around Ignis’ middle, and Ignis just can’t take it anymore. He breaks, biting fiercely down into Prompto’s throat, only managing to ease up once he’s already breached the surface. 

Hot, silky blood bubbles up onto his tongue. Prompto lets out a choked noise, breath stuttering, and Ignis can _taste_ the spike of his pulse. The sudden rush of adrenaline already has Ignis dizzy—it’s been so _long_ , and Prompto’s _delicious_ , everything he’s wanted and more. Prompto gasps and clings to Ignis almost desperately, which only compounds Ignis’ desire. Prompto used to tense up in the beginning, even with the numbing cream that kept him from feeling anything at all, but since growing used to Ignis’ bite, he’s just been a pliant doll when Ignis drinks from him. Now he’s all tight muscles and breathy noises. When Ignis gulps down his first swallow, Prompto actually _cries out_ and bucks his hips into Ignis again. Through the fog of searing pleasure, Ignis tries to pull out—he couldn’t go on if he ever hurt Prompto—but Prompto’s fingers dart into his hair and hold him down. He can feel Prompto trembling as he instinctively swallows more, and Prompto actually moans, “ _Yes_... ohh... I-Iggy... _more_...”

Ignis wants more. Ignis wants _Prompto_ and can’t think straight. He takes another large gulp, sucking out more than he should, and it seems to send Prompto into another frenzy. He squirms in Ignis’ arms and whines brokenly, but Ignis recognizes every sound from the bedroom and knows what it means. Prompto’s _enjoying it_. Prompto’s never been so vocal. At least, not during feedings. But suddenly Prompto’s as wanton as he is when he’s spread out on Ignis’ mattress, naked and sweaty, taking Ignis’ cock or giving it to Ignis just as good. Ignis never dared to dream of mixing the two.

Prompto seems to have his wires crossed now. He digs his fingers into Ignis’ scalp so hard that it almost hurts, and very little actually _hurts_ Ignis. He arches into Ignis’ body and pants for dear life, moaning every time that Ignis sucks at him. He takes Ignis so close to the edge that Ignis forgets what hunger he’s satisfying. 

Then a small gasp punctures through the moans, and Ignis realizes he’s dug too deep. He stops sucking, lets Prompto’s rapid heart and lungs adjust to that, then slowly begins to pull loose. Prompto’s noises don’t stop. When Ignis does pull out entirely, Prompto gives a shuddering sob, and Ignis’ realizes there are tears in his eyes. 

Mired in guilt, Ignis quickly laps over the reddened holes. They sew quickly together, plugging back up, but the flushed, angry grooves of his teeth are still dug into Prompto’s skin all around them. The pinprick marks linger, as they often do for several hours: telltale scars to remind Ignis of his crime. Prompto’s shaking slows, until he’s slumping heavily into Ignis’ arms instead. 

Ignis opens his mouth to apologize, but Prompto mumbles first, “Astrals, Ignis. Why did we _ever_ use that cream?”

Even though the face that Prompto turns up to him is dazedly blissed-out, Ignis still murmurs, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Prompto hums. “I loved it. I love you. _Fuck_ , I love you.” Then he drops his head onto Ignis’ shoulder and doesn’t seem to have the strength to lift it again. Ignis gently pets him.

Ignis still feels guilty. But he also feels tremendously sated and ridiculously lucky. He tells Prompto, “Thank you.”

Prompto buzzes happily, and as he doses off, Ignis reminds him, “ _I love you too._ ”


End file.
